


Shower musings

by IamLurking



Series: Untitled [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Dreams, Future Vision, Gets mature because of uh, Honorshipping, Introspection, M/M, Or the fic where being psychic sucks because you get precognitions, Psychic Abilities, kinda descriptive sex except it isn't?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamLurking/pseuds/IamLurking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-As he put a cold jumper over his head, loneliness struck him strongly. He wanted nothing else but to relieve what he would in the present. Psychic abilities were definitely overrated.-<br/>Or the fic where Morty is a psychic/medium/empath/almost-telepath and he is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shower musings

He knew it wasn't a simple dream. No, he was completely aware, aware of every single thing happening.

He knew it was not his hormones, because he knew that you could only ever dream about someone your had seen before, and he was perfectly sure he had never seen this shade of blue of the hair and stormy grey of the eyes.

Himself was not the same, his hair far longer than the short cut he had now, messier and sticky with the sweat. He was pretty sure his jaw was not as sharp, or his fingers so long.

He didn't have that scar in the back, neither the one on his forehead. His muscles were not as developed, and he could swear this man was taller than him by a great deal.

His body was tingling and he found it weird, as he should only be a consciousness in the vision. Maybe his mind was the one tingling. He felt a sudden tremor, a paralyzing sensation, akin to a pain so intense that it ceased to be pain but a sensation, when the image turned crystal clear.

Shouldn't he be aroused by this? He was pretty sure he liked both girls and boys, but apart from being entertained by the scene, he wasn't feeling any arousal. Maybe because it was only a vision, as if watching a movie, one his head was seeing, but the rest of his body wasn't.

“...ngh... _Falkner_ -”

So his name was Falkner. This blue haired man went by the name of Falkner. He wondered if he was a one-hight stand or his boyfriend. Something in his movements told him the answer, although he was not sure of what it was.

Maybe the way he was kissing him, or the hand he had in his hair.

Maybe it was the position they were, not leaving an inch of skin untouched between both of them.

Perhaps it was the way Falkner's nails scratched his back slightly, only to grasp at his shoulders intensely.

It could be the force behind the bruising kiss both shared in that moment, leaving himself panting and breathless, moaning at the contact between heaving chests.

It might have been the way this Falkner moans and grunts became a single whining sound, rising and falling, only interrupted when taking the oxygen his lungs desperately needed.

“Morty...please I-i, _I can't_...”

It could have been any of those things. What convinced him however, was not the physical action.

It wasn't the awfully intimate sex that made him feel as if he were intruding into a private moment, it was his moment, he was the same person, so he didn't know why he felt that he shouldn't have seen this.

Neither was the delicate way he slid his hand from the other's bottom to his back.

He was mostly sure that it was not the way he shuddered and his breath caught at the orgasm making his way though him.

Or how both separated panting, movements sluggish but perfectly in synchrony with the mood.

He was mostly sure of it when he didn't pull away immediately, resting at the side of Falkner, almost smothered by the quantity of duvets and pillows strewn in their activity.

But it was none of the things he did, but for the look Falkner gave to himself. He had seen it many times before, the ghosts he dealt with oftentimes showed him their past, what kept them here, sometimes them being their loved ones, and they always looked at them strangely, a look he had yet to see from a breathing person. Falkner gave him that look accompanied with an exhausted smile. He was surprised to see the gesture returned by himself alongside pulling the blue-haired one closer to him.

Static filled his ears, and the image vanished as he opened his eyes, facing the dark window at his left.

It had been a vision. He was sure of it by how his head pounded, and the hairs on his body stood up, recoiling from the strong psychic sensation. He was mildly interested as to why he had had a sexual vision, instead of the usual ones of strong, life-changing events.

He was already keeping an ear on Kanto for a mention of a kid steamrolling through a shady criminal organization. He was waiting for the moment Steven would become a champion, already having heard rumors of his performances. He was waiting for the moment Eusine would come at him the first time he saw Suicune near fall. Waiting for the time a cheeky black haired boy defeated him with a blazing Typhlosion. He waited for the time that a blue-haired girl defeats the recently-crowned champion Cynthia with an incredibly sturdy Empoleon. He waited for a fierce battle against a girl with pigtails and a giant fire bug in a cold scenario with the public's screams rendering him deaf to anything other than her name and his.

He was waiting for many things, but he was really waiting for the time he met this man, and that surprised him, as it was the first time he looked forward to something he knew it was going to happen.

He sat up and walked to the bathroom, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the stiffness in them. It would be impossible to get sleep now, with the energy waves still reeling in his mind, turning it restless. When they told him that his psychic abilities were stronger than average, he did not expect that with them would come empathic abilities or future visions at the most inopportune time, such as 3 A.M.

Splashing water in his face, he noticed it felt cold instead of cool like it should, and of the sticky sensation in his skin. Taking a shower now would mean dousing in liquid ice, so he tried to get his mind out of his current discomfort until the heaters were on at four. Deciding to kill time, he tried to look for the differences in the man he saw and the boy he sees in the mirror.

There was still the child-like softness in his chin and jawline, his cheekbones not as pronounced. Not a scar in sight as he pushed a few stray hairs from his forehead, the same few hairs barely brushing the middle of it, not his eyebrows. He looked at his arms, gangly still from his latest growth spurt, but not the last. With the help of the shaving mirror, he noticed no faded wound in his back as well. He wondered in what trouble could he have gotten into to get such an irregular, badly healed scar as big as his hand.

An invisible force stretching his cheeks made him turn around, catching the now visible solid hands of his Haunter. The ghost pokémon just cackled and floated curiously around him.

He always saw himself with ghost pokémon ever since he started to have visions, but even before that ability manifested so strongly, he had always been drawn to them in some way. Being able to sense everything people were feeling and thinking was draining. He oftentimes wondered if he had any emotions of himself at all or he was just a shell for the rest to give some semblance of life with theirs, as a string puppet.

Being around ghosts and subject to their particular brand of humor snapped him out of those thoughts, reassuring him that even under the blank stance his mind took usually in response to the overwhelming emotional reception, he still had some of his own. Most people would be scared by their pranks, and the times that he witnessed other people witnessing Ghost pokémon pranks, they were all scared or unnerved. He would feel amusement, or be outright laughing if it was funny enough. Checking the ticking clock beside his bed back in his room, he noticed his reflexion time took him past 5. Stripping and turning on the dial, he let the dried sweat wash from him alongside his turmoils, even if only for the moment.

Taking notice of the color that the bar of soap had, his mind drifted off to the other person. Falkner, _Falkner_.

It was not a common name, his mind conjuring up some hazy old family tree lines. The look that the vision man gave to the vision him itched on the surface of his thoughts. Who was this Falkner? What could have possibly have brought them to that moment?

Notoriously between psychics, the ability to be a social butterfree was as rare as finding one of those bugs in odd colors. Even being in a medium proximity of someone made him pick up the other's intentions, or impression of the moment. Locked in his room in the pokémon center at rush hour rendered him with a lasting headache and propensity to snap at anything that moved. He knew he was already touch starved within the year of his recent awakening abilities.

Once, only once he had touched someone in that lapse of time. Needless to say that he'd rather have the vision's blindingly intense sensation a thousand times than experience other person within himself again.

It was hard for him to even imagine touching someone in the most controlled of situations, but to have such contact in such an act, with the emotions and sensations not only running rampant on the other one, but himself, lowering his barriers and making himself susceptible to the abrupt changes... If they were having sex, then most certainly he would be his partner from that moment on.

It was apparently the ideal, to remain virgin until married or promised. As ideal as it was, it was notoriously rare to find in these days. For him, while the prospect of sex interested him very much, it ended when it came to foreign skin contact. Blowjobs, handjobs, fingering, penetration. Name it and it involves at least two people touching a part of the other.

He thought it was corny, but he also wanted to experience what so many dead couples did. He would very much like to give only the opportunity to a person who was able to make him stop longing for that look. Someone that would look past his impassive mood, and bring consciously other emotions to paint brightly in that blank canvas. He still couldn't shake his mind from the scene, mind going over tiny details.

How would a hug feel like with nothing in between skin?

Would his hair be pleasant to the touch?

And hands, every time he read a novel from the library it mentioned the feeling of completeness at grasping someone's hand, like two puzzle pieces sliding together, to quote them. He wondered if his would fit with the description in them, or if his skin would be warm to the touch.

Tiny details circled his mind as he stepped out of the shower, fingers slightly pruny.

Putting a clean, cold jumper over his shirt, blue ' _like his hair'_ , loneliness struck him suddenly. His skin itched for that kind of contact, his bones aching slightly for a strong, firm hug enveloping him, engulfing his body, shielding him from any thing else that wasn't them. Light peeked though the cracks of the dark, heavy curtain as he untucked the quilt out of the bed. He knew it wasn't the same, but if he were able to replicate a shadow of his longing, he would be sated. The fabric warmed quickly, wrapped around him as if to fend off against the cold. It was achieving it's purpose; fending off the cold tendrils of loneliness that were as snuggled around him as the thick quilt.

Exhausted by the early call and lulled by the warmth of the fabric, he fell asleep with longing still present in his bones. His dreams gave him a reprieve and a flashback of his vision. Even if it was a fabricated sensation, Falkner's naked embrace soothed his nerves and engulfed him in warmth until he waked up again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, I had this urge to write yesterday night and didn't stop until I was satisfied with the result. This is actually a background information for a comic I'm working for, to get a better feel for Morty because the comic is not going to be in his POV, and I need to get reactions well enough. Also you COULD say this is a fill for this kink meme prompt (http://pokanon.livejournal.com/1363.html?thread=4461651#t4461651), but it's not exactly what the OP wanted.
> 
> What with Sabrina and Morty's quotes in the game, as well that in the BW2 PWT tournament, his title is "The mystic seer of the future", and the guy outside that tells you about the challengers says that Morty is kinda insensible or, well, for the lack of a better word, impassive. Thus alongside some info from my almost-but-not-quite big brother who is very conveniently a psychologist, I came to the conclusion that because of the strong psychological reactions and bombardment from other people's emotions and thoughts, psychics tend to be like it, as a defense mechanism against the foreign energy, kinda like battling a disease, your mind shields you against the events but at the same time reduces the ability to consciously express the emotions and sensations.
> 
> Morty has it better than Sabrina from what I gather because he's an empath, not a telepath. He gets the emotions and intentions but not the full concise range like her. His ghosts are also a bit borrowing from a fic that I cannot remember where I read in ffnet that Sabrina didn't kill ash by being psychotic because his Haunter made her laugh (If that happens in the anime then excuse me but I haven't seen it in 8 years so my memory is dusty at best). So ghosts help you keep in line. Most psychics in BW/2 also are in celestial tower(?) and/or use ghost pokémon so it's settled. 
> 
> The thing about being touch-starved is based on my own experiences a bit, I feel a bit hesitant to touch other people because I feel like I'm suffocating by my personal bubble being touched with strangers, because while I do hug my family and best friend, that ache sometimes hits and it's awful, like an itch you can't scratch. Makes a bit of explanation to why Morty will have a bed full of duvets and fluffy large pillows. 
> 
> He's also a teenager (16/19-ish) so don't blame him for the introspection monologue, sex musings and neither me for the rambling. I sure as hell hope I can channel him soon because he was fun to write!


End file.
